Resolve's Reward
by brytewolf
Summary: Jim has been dropping hints left and right for months, but Spock just doesn't get the clue. It takes an unexpected encounter at a club for Jim to finally get through that thick Vulcan skull.


**A/N:** This is a Secret Santa Present for surrenderdammit over on deviantart. Merry Christmas, bb!

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**Resolve's Reward**

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Jim shifts through the crowd, maneuvering around moving bodies as easily as breathing. This is his element, and he leaves pleased smiles and appreciative looks behind him as he carries their drinks carefully back to the table.

It took him long enough to convince Spock to come along, he's not going to waste their time here flirting with any of the other attractive options available. None of them could hold a candle to Spock, anyway…and eventually he plans on getting through that thick Vulcan skin and have the guy realize that Jim has fallen for him.

Sometimes he thinks his only option is to jump Spock, and even though he's seriously considered it there are far too many ways it could backfire. Better to just be patient, and let the Vulcan think things through on his own – no matter how much Jim hates waiting.

He had hoped that inviting Spock to a gay club would have been a big enough hint, but the Vulcan hadn't even raised an eyebrow at the offer. And when Spock tried to insist that he didn't know how to dance, and therefore could not come along, it had been natural for Jim to teach him some basic moves.

Surprisingly, the guy hadn't been half bad. Once he got the hang of the whole rhythm thing, he'd actually been pretty good. When Jim had inquired as to _how_, the explanation had included physics and metric beats and, well, he would have lost interest if it'd been anyone but Spock. As it was, he was mostly distracted by the fact that his _hands_ where on Spock's _hips_ to notice.

His attempt at obviousness had included choice selections from his favorite music – the early twenty-first century kind, as Jim is somehow a sucker for that time period. He consoles himself with the fact that it is his only outlet for that type of emotion, and he isn't going to be getting any any time soon the way things were going with "his" Vulcan. But Spock's obliviousness had continued, causing Jim to retaliate with a party mix of _Single Ladies_ – which also, apparently, went right over Spock's head.

Once they'd actually hit the club, it'd been too loud for any real conversation to take place. Awkwardness had ensued, as Jim didn't really know any polite way to say _take me over the table,_ so he held his tongue. His liberation had come in the form of their drink order – a fruit-filled tea for Spock, and a gin and coke for himself.

Sighing, Jim weaves through the last few clumps of people to get to their table. He really needs to come up with a better plan, but he's tried _everything_ that's worked in the past, and quite a few things that haven't. Maybe he should just straddle Spock's lap when he gets there, and to hell with overly complicated consequences.

He ducks under a wildly gyrating limb, holding the glasses carefully as he finally arrives at the table. And stops dead in his tracks as he sees there is a _leech_ attempting to get into Spock's pants. Red-hot rage floods Jim at the thought of _anyone_ but him hitting on, much less _touching_, Spock.

Holding back a growl of outrage, he bumps the intruder out of the way with a hip as he places the tea in front of Spock. He catches a flash of gratitude/relief/something very non-Vulcan in Spock's eyes, and Jim begins to think that, perhaps, the night might not end horribly with blue balls and stained Kleenex. And then his hopes are shattered.

"Jimmy? Jimmy, is that _you_?"

In all the bars in all the worlds in all the galaxy.

Jim stiffens, his hands balling into fists at his sides. Trying to project _I'm sorry_ out of his eyeballs and in Spock's direction like nobody's business, Jim slowly makes himself turn around. "Alex? It's been a long time."

The man sidles up to Jim, running a proprietary finger down his shoulder. "Far, far too long, sugar – where'd you disappear to?"

He doesn't see fit to mention a bar, and a bet, and the whole _saving the world_ which should have been obvious to anyone with half a brain. And he _doesn't_ like the way Alex is touching him, definitely not in front of Spock who he wants more than anything.

A false smile, more teeth than cheer. "Busy," he replies, his hand tugging on his Starfleet gold to make the comment even more obvious.

"Ohhh, wow!" Alex squeals, massaging Jim's bicep through the gold. "You've been a busy, busy boy, haven't you? Command gold, even. What are you, a lieutenant?"

Batting the far-too-intrusive hand away, Jim takes a step back. In doing so, the back of his leg bumps into Spock's knee – Spock, who has been silent throughout the entire change, even though Jim _knows_ he can hear everything that's happening with that super Vulcan audible range of his. "I'm a captain."

The hand returns, this time making suggestive circles on his forearm. The falsely-cheerful look in Alex's eyes turns calculating. "Well, sugar, why don't we go to our own _private booth_ and you can tell me all about it?"

He has to forcibly quell the shiver of revulsion that flows through him at those words. _No thank you_. This time, he's not subtle about removing the hand from his arm. "No, I think I'm going to stay here."

Those eyes turn basilisk-charming. "Come on, sugar, you know you want to," Alex says, accompanied by a suggestive shift of his hips.

Before Jim can even begin to formulate an appropriate response to Alex's behavior, strong, pale hands wrap around his torso and pull him down – and into a warm Vulcan lap. Instead of letting go, they clutch possessively at his hips.

"The captain has already given you his response," Spock cuts smoothly in, and Jim can sense dark unreadable eyes gauging Alex from over his shoulder.

An entirely disgruntled/angry/vicious look on the face before him, and Jim has to resist the urge to stick his tongue out in retaliation. As _if_ he'd spend a moment more in Alex's presence than he had to.

"I'm a million times more interesting than a dirty alien." The words are meant to be biting, and they do. Rage nearly blinds Jim, all he can see is red, and he wants to stand up and _punch_ as hard as he can. But strong hands rub calming circles on his belly, and a soft kiss is placed on the back of his neck. _Oh_.

"I believe the appropriate response to your derogatory comment is 'if you like it, then you should have put a ring on it,'" comes Spock's voice, cool and collected, with that deadly edge hidden under the velvet.

And Jim nearly chokes on his laughter, as Alex is left sputtering uselessly. With one final glare aimed in their direction, the angry man stomps off to some other corner of the bar. Leaving Jim on Spock's lap, with warm hands still encircling his midsection.

"Um…thanks," Jim mumbles after a minute, sure that Spock will hear it. His heart has sped up, beating wildly in his chest as those hands still don't move.

A shifting behind him, as the ghost of a breath hits the back of his neck – right over the spot where the impression of Spock's lips still burns. "No gratitude is necessary, Jim. What I said was the truth, even though the wording was a bit…unorthodox. If he still desired you, he should have claimed you as a mate – and not left you on your own for me to discover."

He blushes furious scarlet, grateful out of all proportion that Spock is _behind_ him and not capable of witnessing said blush. That certainly sounds like an open invitation, and – well, he hasn't been booted off of Spock's lap _yet_, so he might as well take advantage of it.

Turning slowly so as not to dislodge Spock's grip, Jim shifts until he's straddling the Vulcan's hips and facing him. Then he lifts his hands and holds the Vulcan's face, a thumb brushing the corner of Spock's lips. He swallows as he looks into those dark eyes. "Does that mean you'd be interested in claiming me as a mate?"

"Indeed," Spock replies, and his grip tightens, pulling Jim forward. Against something hard and incredibly interesting that sends fireworks through Jim's nervous system. A hand leaves his hip, but only to trace temptingly against his lips. "In fact, I believe that it is imperative that you become mine."

And then Spock proceeds to make Jim's brain explode in the most delicious of ways.


End file.
